Midnight Misdemeanors
by Momosportif
Summary: Just a little fluffdrabble/fight fic for Mugen and Jin. Mugen is woken up by one of least favorite katana and has to fight his way to an explanation for his room mate's aggression. Character's are Watanabe's! Enjoy!


Meh. My first Samurai Champloo fic. I wrote it after seeing episodes 1-4 (we are now on 21-ish) so I played it safe and worked only with what I knew. XD Thus, this is a crackish bit of fluff, primarily composed of me attempting to write fight scenes that read as awesomely as the fight scenes in the anime look plus a little dose of inevitable MuJin slash at the end. XD

Hope you enjoy and please feel free to leave questions, comments, homicidal urges, etc. in a review! :)

-bows-

-S

* * *

The first thing he felt was the rush of air so singular to the movement of a blade.

The first thing he saw was his own bleary eyes reflected in the steel so singular to a sickeningly familiar sword.

This did not bode well.

Before the blade could be removed from its place, buried to the tip in the cot, Mugen thrust forward, head low, and brought himself to a crouch, wasting no time in turning that crouch into a forward roll as the sword chased him in a sinister sweep.

From his head, the vagrant spun once or twice to disentangle the sheets, hoping fervently that they would apprehend his attacker, and then flopped to his back, right leg straining to find his sword, right where he'd left it, right here…

Tch!

The click meant his heel had found the hilt and, in one fluid motion, he kicked it back to his waiting hand, stood, and drew in order to block the uppercut he sensed coming.

Apparently the sheets were poor currency in terms of buying time. This would require some stouter fare.

Still on the defensive, he jumped up on a bedside table, clearing the contents with a sweeping kick, but failing to distract his pursuer who followed methodically and coolly as he leapt next to the window sill at his left.

The patter and shatter of the various and sundry items he had sent flying off the desktop moments before bracketed the clean swish of the blinds being cut where he had been standing seconds ago and he dove at his opponent in order to avoid being crushed by the fabric and fine wood.

Rolling into a stand directly behind the towering shadow, he gave into the ever present desire to give the ebony ponytail a good yank before dropping low to avoid the irritation charged swipe from the right and then straightening in order to engage in a series of aggressive frontal attacks, using the mindless methodology to put his mind to an end all attack.

Noting the coolness of the wooden floor in contrast to the body-warmed corner of the cot as he stepped back and forth with the flow of battle, Mugen was suddenly struck with a thought and began backing away in a feigned retreat with each clash of metal.

As soon as both feet found the ground, he kicked the thin but weighty mattress up high enough to catch it with a well-aimed shove from the right shoulder.

The offense was effectively toppled, a fall made worse by his elevated stature, but he managed to turn the slip into a sloppy but successful backwards somersault, coming to rest against the opposite wall on all fours, mid-tentative raise.

But Mugen was too fast and came down hard with a kick to the left shoulder only to find it held firmly in place there by a pale hand, seeming to glow faintly under the lens of moonlight.

With a frustrated growl he fell back effortlessly to his hands, bringing the other foot up to rest on the opposite shoulder and flinging the tall but slight body over and out, dropping quickly to stand where his victim had been seconds before in order to survey the results.

The terribly displaced cot and scattered sheets fell away to reveal his recovering opponent, stance still solid and dojo-perfect as ever.

As much as dispensing a few seconds on disbelief tainted with begrudging respect appealed to him, Mugen lunged into action as soon as he came to rest in an upright position and met the tireless sword, this time held aloft in the defense while he slashed out recklessly in his infamous brand of unpredictable offense.

The blades clashed, center to center, and he pressed in, testing the chance of sheer strength only to find the silent samurai immobile. Their dark eyes met, inches from each other, and he could read on the surface of the obsidian glare that he had committed, unknowingly, some great and terrible evil.

They sprang apart. There was only one way to know exactly.

The frequency of strikes slowed momentarily as they circled each other, the strain of suddenly waking up and engaging in a full out battle catching up with their extremities.

Mugen followed the path of the antagonistic blade critically.

This was the key. If he could find a way to disarm his opponent, the battle would be his, he was sure, it was merely a matter of achieving what he never before had achieved.

Physically removing the weapon was positively out of the question, which left only the option of relying on some alternative medium to wrench the katana out of that unrelinquishing grip.

In a stroke of inspiration, Mugen collapsed on the floor in the most uncoordinated way possible that would still allow him time to lift his own weapon at the last minute, blocking a blow powered by a strength equal to his own plus a little help from gravity.

He gave the fractional ground left, arms pressed to his chest so closely that he felt something was going to break if he delayed one second more. But he had to be sure, had to be absolutely _positive_, that nothing less than his combatants full weight was behind their joined swords and then-

He slid both arms to the left, to the floor, and slipped his own blade out and away, leaving the opposing sword no other option but to sink into the sturdy support structure beneath them before flinging his own body across the trapped weapon (a none too pleasant sensation) and sending its wielder towards the wall with a flailing kick.

This time his speed was sufficient and he managed to transform his shaky rise into a rapid, if sloppy, stagger, ramming into the slightly slouched figure and pinning him against the wall.

Jin's supreme control fractured enough to allow one wince to escape, a sound so seldom heard Mugen came dangerously close to feeling sympathy for his defeated foe but quickly recovered, half-sighing and half-snarling, "What the hell is your problem, jackass?"

He felt the wrists in his fists relax, but the narrow visage remained composed with an edge of fury.

Uncharacteristically patient (mostly a result of fatigue), Mugen allowed the silence to speak for a turn, the only noise competing with it being the ebb and flow of their sharp breathing.

Jin swallowed, shutting his eyes, brows furrowing, before finally meeting Mugen's stare, a gaze typically made more distant by the stoic samurai's currently discarded glasses.

He studied the delicate lines under those steely eyes as Jin made him aware, at last, of the sin he was being punished for.

"You were hoarding the covers."

"Oh…" the slightly shorter man released his taller bed mate for the evening, turning to survey the chaos behind them.

The cloud of battle fury clearing from his already sleep-fogged mind, Mugen walked to the battered bedding, each step resounding in the suddenly empty night.

He lifted a corner of the blanket. It was completely shredded.

He shrugged.

"Sorry…. Guess it is kind of chilly…"

"More than you would believe." Jin at last came to join him, passing a critical gaze over the ribboned sheet while casually kicking the corner of the cot into place.

"I'll take your word for it," Mugen exhaled loftily, sweeping the contents of the bedside table out of the way with an angled foot before flopping down in the nest of blanket slivers as Jin sedately reclined at his side.

They lay still for a moment, watching the ceiling and waiting for the chill to overcome the heat generated by sparring.

"Problem solved though, eheuh? Now we're both going to freeze our asses off."

"I have no desire to repeat that experience, actually," in a complete role reversal, Jin surprised the so-called unpredictable Mugen, throwing himself on top of him and effectively knocking the breath out of his lungs.

"Kah!"

Jin wiggled discreetly, making himself comfortable.

"I rather prefer warmth, don't you?"

Mugen gave the best response he could at the moment: a fiery exhale.

That damn bastard. He always had to win.


End file.
